


eye in the sky

by the_cosmos_lonely (dheiress)



Series: Missing Episodes [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A Spy in The Desert, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Carlos and Cecil's Baby, Domestic, M/M, MAG 167, Quarantine, Slight spoilers, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Typical The Magnus Archives Weirdness, it devours - Freeform, missing episode, no beta we die like archive assistants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24267421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dheiress/pseuds/the_cosmos_lonely
Summary: ‘Look at thesky’, the man laughed. ‘Lookat the sky,” he cried. ‘It’s looking back’.Welcome to Night Vale.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Missing Episodes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/291566
Comments: 43
Kudos: 291





	eye in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this work deals with quarantine, contagion, body horror, and apocalyptic imagery, please take care of yourself if you choose to read on.

CECIL:

‘Look at the _sky’_ , the man laughed. ‘ ** _Look_** at the sky,” he cried. ‘ ** _It’s looking back_** ’.

Welcome to Night Vale.

—INTRO. MUSIC PLAYS—

CECIL:

Listeners… _how_ are you today? [SOMETHING GURGLES IN THE BACKGROUND, LIKE A BABY] Hope everything’s fine, hope at least everything’s not _not fine_. Have you gotten out of bed yet, maybe showered for a moment or at least brushed your teeth? Have you made yourself a cup of coffee and looked out of the window, thinking _maybe_ this is the day? Maybe this is the day that you will open your door and finally, blessedly take a step out to breathe in air that is not a collection of your stagnant exhales?

Pleeeeeease. **_Don’t._**

Those were rhetorical questions, not suggestions of any kind. I have a note here from The Sheriff’s Secret Police saying everyone is still ordered to stay inside, I repeat Night Vale, _stay inside_. ‘We know you want to go to the White Sand Ice Cream Shop for a cold nip to battle the heat,’ the note—heavily inked watercolor brushes on a roll of tissue paper—continues, ‘or maybe go to the newly reopened Telly’s— _Telly_ , the traitorous _Barber_ who somehow wormed his way back here in our little burg despite all protests of certain radio hosts— for a refreshing haircut. But, Night Vale, we still do not know what _The Eye_ wants—’

Oh, yes. _Sorry_ , I should have started with The Eye in the Sky first. [CLEARS THROAT]

Well, Night Vale, as we all know, a few weeks ago, an Eye appeared in the sky. It is large, becoming larger even so for each passing minute, and lidless, its iris of all existing colors and some hues we never thought possible before. It hasn’t really…done anything yet except for the staring and causing the nauseous existential horror of being known we feel every time any of us braved to stare back at it _but_. Buuuuuut. [SOMETHING RATTLES IN THE BACKGROUND, LIKE A TOY] We do not know what it _wants_. Does it simply likes watching us? Or was its purpose more malevolent, like reminding Larry Leroy out in the edge of the town what it felt like to slide down a hungry maw and the comfort of oblivion sure to come at the end of the slide? What do you want, Big Eye in the Sky? _What?_

We just don’t know that yet.

Also, Sheriff Sam’s note added that while the Merry-Go-Round that popped up at the Vacant Lot Out Back of the Ralph’s as soon as the Eye appeared in the Sky sounds _fun_ , please do not ride it. The joyous screams of the ones currently on its eternal route may tempt you but those that had luckily gotten off reported certain Strangeness taking over their consciousness. Susan Wilman had tried that carousel and, ugh, she keeps asking anyone who tries to talk to her about it, “Is my name Hannah? Is your name _Hannah?_ What is my _name_? Why is my name not Hannah?” in increasing hysterics. [IN A RATHER HIGH-PITCHED VOICE] _No_ , Susan, your name is definitely not Hannah. Why would you even try a carousel when you can’t remember your own name? Ugh, _Susan_.

[CLEARS THROAT AGAIN, IN A MORE PROFESSIONAL VOICE] Carousels are dangerous and are known to induce temporary memory loss, especially if you ride the pink unicorn with red, crying eyes and sawed off horn. So do not ride the carousel, listeners, because either you won’t like it or you would like it too much you’ll leave your true self there and emerge with another identity.

Also, you are not allowed to go outside yet! What are you thinking, _Chad_? Are you really that excited for a ride on a Merry-Go-Round you would disobey the Secret Police and their clandestine rules, _again_?

Anyway, the Sheriff’s Secret Police has already boarded the doors and windows of every house that has doors and windows so no one can actually go outside. I, myself, have been working from home, thanks to the recording equipment that Station Management has kindly sent me through means unknowable. I admit [A BIT OF PEEVENESS CREEPING IN HIS VOICE] I was looking forward to spending my lockdown days playing with my baby darling boy, but alas, works must.

Our Charlie boy has his teeth coming in nicely now and with the way those pearly whites are peeking out like little headstones, _ooohh,_ Carlos and I just _know_ he’ll inherit Carlos’ teeth like military cemetery. Charles’ eyes are still changing colors and the third, smaller one still hasn’t fully opened yet but my sister Abby said it also took my eyes a long time to settle when I was a toddler so I’M. JUST. SO. EXCITED. TO. SEE. WHAT. BABY CHRONOS. WILL. LOOK. LIKE. [BABY GURGLES IN THE BACKGROUND] _LISTENERS! DID YOU HEAR THAT? OH, WHO’S A CUTE BOY, WHO’S A CUTE LITTLE GIRL—_

[A CLICK, THEN CECIL IN A PRE-RECORDED AD]

You are Alone and everything feels so gentle, so muted. [FAINT STATIC STARTS] You almost feel as if you are floating, the cold fog around you a tightening cocoon soon to devour you and spit out another lonely creature in your stead. You think…you will let it, let the Loneliness consume you, feast on your brittle bones and suck out what is left of your marrow.

The hurt is nothing more than a slight heaviness on your chest, the fear just a light buzzing around your ears, the anger a mere throb between your brows. You didn’t know Loneliness was like falling asleep and you’re so tired.

So tired.

You don’t want to make another decision today, don’t want to talk anymore to of your asshole bosses who just wanted to one up each other, you just want to be…Alone. You close your eyes and—

You wake up.

You are not Alone. The man that you know you love is beside you, curled inside the nest of your arms. He is fast asleep, the worry usually creasing his forehead smoothed by slumber. Affection, and dare you say, love swells up from your chest to your throat and it pulls down your lips to give his forehead a light peck. The Feelings are growing back, you think, you _hope_ , but you know deep down what you currently have are only the pale imitations of what existed before. The love is there, yes, the warmth, the gratitude, the trust, the _desire_ , but before it was once a rushing river of swirling currents, now it is only a steady trickle slowly circling your body. And it irks you, because you know you are capable of more, that _he_ deserves more than this.

Even the Fear has subsided and where before you stutter and trip and buckle, now you smile and giggle and snark at the beings that could kill you, that _would_ kill you. The irritation at this awareness scratches at you and you let it simmer, let it turn into cold anger, at least then you know that the Loneliness hasn’t broken you yet. That you still can feel things properly.

You ran your fingertips along the ridges of his face, settling back against him, you only wish he lets you kill them properly.

[STATIC RISES TO ALMOST UNBEARABLE NOISE]

[STATIC SUDDENLY STOPS]

**_Shop at Target._ **

[A CLICK]

Night Vale, The Greater Night Vale Medical Community has the posted the following medical advice on my refrigerator door:

You will find additional growths to your body including but not limited to the following:

  * Eyes
  * Antlers
  * Teeth
  * That weird, violet spores-like excess skin on your wrist and/or your back that would not come off no matter how hard you scrub at it as you shower



The antlers and the molar teeth are normal growths for this time of the year as the Deer Season is nearing. However, if the teeth observed are sharper than normal or has another set of teeth inside _OR_ if you are not a Real Estate Agent, please consult your local Dentist as none of these are symptoms of becoming a Deer.

Eyes are, fortunately, harmless. A little inconvenient, yes, and a little bit embarrassing but harmless really if you think about it. Yes, Wilson you might see flashes of Amber’s neck and the tops of her chest when you close your eyes—no, not the new one that grew on the junction of your thumb and wrist, you can’t control that one, and yes, its iris has the same color as Amber’s eyes—and, you’re right, Amber, seeing Wilson’s face intensely inspecting you in the middle of your nightly dreams or seeing other parts of him you didn’t want to see in the middle of the day is disconcerting if not outright horrifying but I said _harmless,_ not ‘ _not mentally scarring’._ Really, Amber, you can’t judge what other people look like, one would think the large eye bulging from under your chin would have reminded you that.

Sadly, we don’t know enough yet about the weird spore-like patches that have afflicted most of the townspeople. But here’s our guess, **_don’t_** irritate it, that is like the first rule with all skin-related problems, we shouldn’t have needed to say that. No finger pointing too on who has it, you should have kept your fingers to yourself in the first place, Linda, you wouldn’t have caught it too if you did.

Skinning is the last resort; we only recommend it for the severe cases of spores. If you find yourself in such severe situation, _please_ don’t feed the dead skins to the spiders! We don’t want them to have a stronger desire for human meat, they already ate Doctor Joel Isenberg.

This has been a public service announcement from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community.

Agents from A Vague Yet Menacing Agency wanted me to remind you that while Time indeed works correctly in Night Vale now, remembering anything about those trucks full of crates far out in the desert is _still_ against the law. No, _sir_ , those crates are still off-limits, please stop thinking about them. We _beg_ you.

A quick editorial. Dear Listeners, Carlos has gone to a scientific convention out of town before all this Eye stuff happened, so I’m left alone with our Carlito for the whole past two months. [CHUCKLES LIGHTLY] Don’t get me wrong, I love this because radio is so time-consuming a job and this is my chance to actually spend time with my Clara boy but Carlos _did_ promise to teach him the colors of the sky. And our child hasn’t forgotten about that even if Khoshekh himself instigates playtimes with Claus, his mind was as quick as his father’s, _but_ the signal in the institute where my Carlos currently stays is just nuts! We can’t even FaceChat or even arrange a Zoom meeting properly, texts are okay but I don’t think Candice will appreciate talking to his father about the sky in _texts_. [BABY GIGGLES IN THE BACKGROUND]

I suppose I could try to teach him about our current sky myself, but it’s not the same. [SIGHS]

[FABRIC RUSTLING, BABY GURGLING BECOMES CLEARER AND LOUDER, CECIL'S VOICE BECOMES DEEPER]

Well, my darling— _look_ at the sky, look at the _sky_ , _for it is looking back_.

See the Eye? It sees you too, love, don’t worry.

Look high, look deep, you’ll see the white of it blending with the void and the sadly twinkling stars behind it. [BABY COOS, CECILS LAUGHS SOFT] Look high, look deep, again and you’ll see the iris of many colors, each shade an emotion not meant to be watched but seen regardless. Look at the green go to blue to teal to another green again to light green, or was that light yellow, to yellow like an egg, to yellow like sulfur, to orange, to red, to salmon, to pink to white then back again to another cycle, each succession more indescribable than the last. [CECIL LAUGHS, BABY LAUGHS TOO]

Again, my dear, look high, look deep, you’ll see the pupil of it, the great ever expanding darkness in between the brighter colors. Look closely, my dear, for within what you thought was the void you’ll see a darker shadow. So small, so thin, you won’t easily recognize it at first. But then if you look closer, the shadow will take shape…there, you see, is the arms, the legs, the head. It is a man or it is shaped like a man, at least.

_Why is he up there?_

Why do you think?

_Is he alone?_

Yes, but he is not Lonely, not quite. Not yet.

_What is he doing?_

He is watching.

_What is he doing?_

He is listening.

_What is he doing?_

He is…Surpassing.

This has also been the Children’s Science Fun Fact Corner.

Night Vale! I know you’re all excited for this so here’s the community calendar:

Monday is Dig Day! Yes, listeners, we will all Dig, and Dig, and Dig, and Dig, and Dig, and Dig! It’s Dig Day again! We will sing as the rain touch our dirt covered bodies and we will squeeze through the Narrow Place but most importantly: We! Will! Dig!

On Tuesday, Dark Owl Records will not open, because it’s Michelle and Maureen’s totally-not-labeling-anything anniversary! Happy totally-not-labeling-anything anniversary, Michelle and Maureen!

Thursday will see the Watcher’s Crown, or no, not the Watcher’s Crown, sorry, the New Ritual, the one that pulled all the Fears that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and leads and dies into this world as a whole, reversed. Have you ever seen a human pulled into an anthill, only the anthill is flexible and can contain the trauma of a whole other being inside it? Well now, imagine that scene in reverse, only more tragic because of love found and sacrificed and betrayed. Expect tears from all your eyes, better bring tissues and Gatorade.

Wednesday comes after Thursday, because damnit that’s how alphabet works.

Friday empties your mind of knowledge not meant to be there, there is a whole other world that has come in contact with yours and the collision hasn’t been _pretty_. Don’t worry, Friday is there, Friday will soothe your worries, Friday will clear your troubles. Friday. Is. _Bliss_.

On Saturday, you will look into the eyes of the person you love and you will need to choose. This person or the world? The answer won’t be easy but the person you love trusts you to make the right choice and not the easy one. In the end, you think, you despair, it would have been better to not learn to love at all if the story goes like this.

Sunday will remind us that Monday to Saturday has been cancelled, due to us being boarded up inside our houses until this danger, or we, passes _._

This has been the community calendar.

The world is a riot of colors and the Hunt inside you is Ever Chasing. There is power behind the muscles of your legs, your arms and you bask in it as you leap, as you punch, as you rip, surprising even your self with the speed you lunge at your prey rabbiting away. You tear through the sections of this new world, a freed creature.

You didn’t hear the first shot, or the feel the second one. The third one, though, obliterates your ear so you heard and felt it at the same time. But you were not fell by it, only impaired, so you turn to the one who holds the gun. Her scent is familiar and the sight of her stirs a distinct memory in your otherwise rabid mind. You smile-growl at her, “ _Have you come to kill me?”_

She does not answer; finger quick in pulling the trigger instead. But you are quicker, and in the next fraction of the second, you have her dazed on the ground, a deer in the headlights look in her eyes as you loom above her. You lick the air she exhales and is disappointed by it. There is nothing left of the Hunt in her, no Chase at all, only the crippling Fear and something else, and you don’t want to eat her.

But there is someone, someone you remembered because of her, someone else that you’ll gladly feast on.

You look up.

The Eye is watching you.

You howl at it, promising your prize a slow gruesome death after your Chase.

This has been today’s traffic.

Night Vale…please stop _looking_ at the sky!

I’m sorry if any part of this broadcast has made you curious and strong enough to remove the planks nailed on your windows and doors and has suggested that you look at the now visible sky. But please, Night Vale, stop looking at the sky!

At best, you won’t like what you see, there is not only the visceral thing above us but also the other horrors it brings: The Carnival, and The Wolves, and The Worms, and The Fire—Dear Lord, the _ash from the fire—_ and The Rabid People Pulling the Rolls of Toilet Paper and Bottles of Disinfectant from the Shelves Leaving None for the Others, and the people walking with rather a glossy look on their eyes on the wrong side of fearless.

At _worst_ , the Eye in the Sky would not like what it sees and would perhaps…retaliate. John Peters—you know, the farmer?—has reported just now a strange spore-like growth of lavender fractal patterns on his imaginary corn. Of course, this might have something to do with the oncoming Deer Season and the Imaginary Corn Blight it carries but we can’t be too careful now, can we, Night Vale?

The Sheriff’s Secret Police is suggesting blindfolds to anyone who could not resist looking into the Eye. This, Sheriff Sam says in another piece of toilet paper (I think we’re now beginning to see who hoarded all the toilet paper, Night Vale), can be a blessing, think of all those unused blindfolds from last year. Also, please stop saying that this second wave is our fault. We did say it was safe to come out last week, but we were just testing you! We didn’t know you were actually going to do it—

[BABY SNIFFLES IN THE BACKGROUND, SLOWLY TURNING INTO A _CRY_ ]

Oh, no. _Oh, no,_ Clarice? What is the matter, baby doll? Do you want Khosekh to come back and continue petting you? Now, now, don’t cry, darling girl, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here, let’s go to another ad, here—

[A CLICK, THEN CECIL IN ANOTHER PRE-RECORDED AD:]

A step, then another step, and then another step. There is a different horror waiting for you with each one. The Eye in the Sky stares at you and you can almost See Him smile, almost like a parent Watching its toddler’s first steps towards Him.

You are a tourist in this Hell that You both have created, that You both have caused. You have escaped the Cozy Cabin, the mindless Slaughter, the unbiased Corruption. The Stranger did not manage to escape you yet the singing Buried ones called to you, and you almost let yourself be tempted to Sleep in its Confines, your bones so weary and you just wanted to close your Eye. But you didn’t, you can’t.

Hairline cracks floating in the air catches the impossible light in this world without a sun and you see their glints time to time from the corners of your eye.

Cobwebs.

You Know that if you inspect each of them properly you’ll only See empty, abandoned ones. But you Know, although you cannot See, you Know they are there, alive and connected to Her. You hold on to the one you love, hand upon hand, as you trudge through whatever little time you have left together and there is a part of you that wonders, _has She gotten Martin, has Her cobwebs wrapped itself around him and I didn’t even know?_ Or worse, was he under Her control the whole time and you were just like your predecessor, blinded by trust, by love?

Perhaps.

But choosing him is your own choice and She may taunt you with the idea that all of your life you were under Her Influence, but you Know, you are certain, the choices you’ve made after that painful realization in a basement so long ago has been yours alone. You chose him and he is your reason, this is all you need to Know about the matter.

This is the Apocalypse of your own making. And you will See it through, bitter end or no.

In your pocket, there is a lighter with Her insignia and you think of lighting a cigarette.

**Marlboro.**

_This is the point where we are forced to say something about how smoking kills, but eh, what the heck right, we don’t think a little smoke in your lungs would be in the top of the list of things that could kill you in this newly remade world of ours._

_Still, smoke in moderation._

[ANOTHER CLICK.]

CECIL:

[BABY GURGLES HAPPILY IN THE BACKGROUND]

Listeners, the Greater Night Vale Medical Community has been made aware that some of you have been…experimenting on the growing Eyes on your body and, _hm_ [A RATHER PATRONIZING TSK], they do not recommend doing that. _At all._

The disturbing feeling of Eyes crawling on your skin is upsetting, we know, but isn’t enduring endless Surveillance what we are good at, Night Vale? Haven’t we spent years, decades, even centuries, under the watchful gazes of both the Sheriff’s Secret Police and the Faceless Old Woman who Secretly Lives in Our Homes? All of it under the pretense of our own good, of course. How can they protect us from the consequences of our own actions if they didn’t know what those actions had been in the first place?

Think of it this way, Night Vale, you don’t need to get those cool eye tattoos you were thinking of getting, you have the real things on your skin now!

Concerned on who is on the other end of the Eye watching you from your own cheek? Not sure if the expression on that singular eye is trepidation or horror or… _excitement_? That’s all normal! The terror of being truly known through our comfortable masks is known to us all.

Or hate the way you close your eyes and get glimpses of another life, another happy life that should have been yours if you only had the courage to ask her, to _know_ her? That’s just being a part of healthy, loving community!

[IN A STERN VOICE, POSH BRITISH ACCENT]

Do not meddle with the Eye any more, Night Vale, I promise you won’t like what you will _See_.

[CECIL’S VOICE BACK TO NORMAL]

This has been an update from the Greater Night Vale Medical Community.

I’ve been told to take a Look on the Stock Market, Night Vale, so here it is:

Her Corridors remain untouched by the Eye and she laughs as she traverses each one, makes each turn double back into another loop. She turns up and down, turns left and right, she loves visiting the Blind One and her Lady Fearless, loves to make Helen pretend to be a normal woman again now and then. Before, she likes dangling at The Detective an offer of chauffeuring her to a Flower that no longer exists, a Wolf blossoming in its bloody stead, but she already found her Flower and gosh did that end _deliciously._

So, now she has only two horses left in this race of who will end up happily together and who will simply _End._ And while she loves needling the Archivist and his Lonely One, she knows better than to truly anger the lynchpin of this fun universe. When the Blind One gets boring or her Lady Fearless catches her fooling around, Helen leads herself back to her corridors and twists into other places. This hell is such an interesting place now, so many people to poke and distort and—

“Oh _dear_ ,” she says to the Deer grazing the foliage in front of her open door, “is it Open House season already?”

The Stock Market does not look good, Night Vale, maybe double check on your investments in the meantime. As you do so, I will double check on—the weather.

—WEATHER: [_HOMETOWN_ by SHEPPARD](https://youtu.be/eeOgF3K3ekg) PLAYS—

The Eye in the Sky is still in the sky, listeners. Nothing has changed during the weather, just like the past seven weeks. Why are you still hoping for it? Hope only makes things worse.

But…[VOICE SUDDENLY EXCITED] here’s something that I’m sure will make things better. Conrad has said his first _words_ [A LONG, HIGH PITCHED SQUEAL]. Ah, listeners, I know the joy of parenthood can be so addicting but knowing is really different from feeling, right?

Listen _here,_ come on my little eyelet, [BABY GIGGLES] what do the voice on the radio says?

CHILD:

[VOICE SO DISTORTED, IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE A CHILD OR A HUMAN AT ALL]

_AUDIO._

_SCIENCE._

CECIL:

 _Oh, my heart!_ [IN THE BACKGROUND, THE CHILD KEEPS ON SAYING THOSE TWO WORDS] Thank god I caught it on tape, we’ll let Daddy hear it when he comes back, yeah? _Yeah_? Oh, you’re so perfect, our little Charlito, you’re so _neat—_

[CLEARS THROAT, VOICE PROFESSIONAL AGAIN]

Before we end today’s broadcast, the Sheriff’s Secret Police would like to retract their earlier statement regarding blindfolds. The blindfolds _do not_ help at all, listeners. They say they just, like, got the idea from this movie called _Birdbox_ and while it worked for Sandra Bullocks, it doesn’t for us apparently. It makes things more… _not fine._

Just accept the Eye in the Sky, Sheriff Sam writes in another toilet paper, treating the roll as a scribe to a long piece of parchment, it would probably make things easier. Sure, the visions of your own internal organs when you blink tend to make you lose your appetite but it’s better than the _dreams_ , right?

_Much better than the dreams._

There, now you have it, do not use the blindfolds, Night Vale, don’t even try other drastic means, we’ve been warned.

[MORE UPBEAT] Our next program is repeat of the popular voice of a woman mindlessly begging an entity that has no mercy.

So, now, I bid you a temporary good bye, listeners. We’ll see each other soon. May your dreams be absent of any eyes except your own, Night Vale.

Good night.

—SPLASHES OF WATER AND A FAINT VOICE REPEATING OVER AND OVER: _TAKE HER, NOT ME, TAKE HER, NOT ME_ —

—CREDITS MUSIC PLAYS—

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor and produced by Disparition. Again, this is neither Welcome to Night Vale nor a franchise of it nor anything formally related to it. This is a word vomit of a woman who should have known better to share it.
> 
> This fic’s weather is Hometown by Sheppard. Listen to their other awesome songs at wearesheppard.com
> 
> Want to scream about The Magnus Archives or the glory days of Night Vale? You can scream at the void in dheiress.tumblr.com, don’t worry, the void won’t judge. The void is also screaming about it.
> 
> TODAY’S PROVERB: Want a nice cheer for your favorite soccer team? Here’s one: _Vigilo. Opperior. Audio._ Repeat after me: _Vigilo. Opperior. Audio. Vigilo. Opperior. Audio. Vigilo. Opperior. Audio._ _Vigilo. Opperior. Audio. Vigilo. Opperior. Audio. Vigilo. Opperior. Aud—_
> 
> [TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF]


End file.
